When my mother
told me to run, I ran. I ran all the way to the river and then
stopped—because the river was a frightening place, and forbidden by
the raiders who came to take their annual toll of settlers. Faced
with the choice of being taken, or taking my chances in the river, I
took a step back, and hoped that somewhere, across the river I’d
find help.

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Dedication

This is for all
those who believed in me enough that, eventually, I had the courage
to believe in myself.

The
first
two sentences for this short story arrived in my head at some ungodly
late hour on January 7, 2018, when I was having a shower just before
going to bed. This, if you aren’t already aware, is often the way
with stories, and if you ignore such gifts, they don’t stay around
until morning. It also arrived at the same time as the concept for
another short story I need to write, A
Queen of Winter,
so I had to juggle two ideas in my head, until I could get out of the
shower and dry enough to write them down. I picked up the story,
again, on July 9, 2018, after finishing the fourth novel in the Mack
‘n’ Me ‘n’ Odyssey
series, and kept writing just to see where it went. The story was
completed on July 10, 2018, and became a borderline science
fiction-fantasy blend.

I
stood at the edge of the river, both feet firmly planted amidst the
sweet meadow grass, the toes of my boots scant inches from the water.
What would it be like, I wondered, to take that one step more?

Behind me bugles
rang, and I glanced back, trying to see through the cover of the
trees, trying to gauge if I really had a choice about the river, or
if I was honestly thinking of facing the fate roaring through the
foliage towards me. I turned. Perhaps that fate wouldn’t be as bad
as I’d heard. Perhaps…

One look at the
bestial features of the rider mounted on the giant boar, and I knew
otherwise. The elders had been sugar-coating the truth for years; the
only reason our colony had survived was because we paid a tribute in
human lives—and I wasn’t going to be a part of it. Whatever the
stories were that surrounded the river, none of them promised the
horror I read on that face.

It was worth the
risk.

And
maybe I would find salvation downstream. Maybe there would be someone
I could ask for help. Our ancestors might not have chosen to land
here, but we had no choice about staying, Confederation and Alliance
rules, or no. My mother had given me the chance to reach the river. I
would not disrespect her by wasting it.

The rider drew her
beast to a skidding halt, the tip of her spear bare inches from my
chest.

“Going somewhere,
child?” she asked, and I licked my lips. “Come back with me. I
have a better use for that tongue.”

I was sure she did,
even though I couldn’t think what. The boar was not the only one
with fangs that curled over its lip. The creature mounted on its back
looked carnivorous. I took a step back, not intending it to be my
last on dry land—but I’d forgotten how deliberately I’d stood
on the river’s edge, my heels in line with its bank, and my foot
struck nothing.

I had time for one
startled shriek, throwing my arms out for balance as my sole found
the water’s surface and plunged through, and then I was falling.
Coarse laughter followed me down, and I watched as they turned their
mounts parallel to the bank. They looked odd as rippling shadows
blending into the trees, and I hoped the stories weren’t entirely
true.

Giant fish that
could swallow a man whole, eels able to strip the flesh from a cow in
seconds, amphibious lizards that paralysed with a bite so their young
could eat living flesh until they were large enough to hunt it on
their own, these were the nightmares that ran through my head as I
flailed my way to the surface. The surface—where the riders were
waiting.

The
first spear thrust came as a surprise, and I turned, feeling the
blade graze my back, as I noticed the rope trailing behind. I didn’t
wait for a second shaft to come flying in my direction, but dove away
from the bank, pushing myself under the surface and hoping they
wouldn’t try for me until I came up for air.

My mother had always
told me I was a dreamer.

The second spear
missed, but not by much, and my lungs felt near to bursting. I
spotted shadows, and swam towards them, hoping that whatever cast
them would provide sufficient cover to hide me from the riders’
eyes—or at the very least foul their aim. Just in case I hadn’t
reached the shadows before the next throw, I twisted, rolling
sideways in the water, grateful for the lake above the settlement,
where it had been safe enough to learn the skill.

A third spear
flashed through the space my body had occupied, and I prayed the
riders stuck to taking turns, and did not decide to throw all at
once. Unlike the first two, that spear had been aimed to kill—and
now I understood the purpose of the rope.

It was not just to
drag the weapon back to shore, should it miss, but to drag the prey
back, as well. After all, meat could not be eaten, if it floated
downstream. Not unless it washed ashore before it sank—and the
chances of that were slim.

I reached the
shadows’ edge, surprised to discover thick fronds of weed growing
from the river bed. I might have hesitated about entering this
underwater grove, except the idea of being skewered and dragged
ashore to be eaten was far more frightening than the idea that
something harmful might live among the weeds.

Not that any of the
village knew for certain. The riders came every year, bringing their
stories and their prohibitions, and the punishments meted out to
anyone caught in the forbidden area were memorable enough that most
did not risk them. It was why my mother had told me to try for the
river. She was sure it was somewhere the riders feared to go.

I remembered the
spears secured by rope, and the easy familiarity with which my
hunters had ridden the river’s edge, and wept that she’d been
wrong. Pulling myself further into the shelter of the weed, I
realised shadow pooled on the water above, and swam up. Perhaps the
shade would protect me from the hunters’ aim, too. Perhaps…

The
first thing I did, when I surfaced, was look back across the water.
The second was to note how far across the river I’d swum, that the
bank from which I’d fallen now lay opposite me, and also lay empty.
Not even the shrubbery moved to show where the riders had gone. I
trod water, breathing in the sheltered air, and hoping things did not
go too badly for the rest of the colony, trying hard not to wonder
who would be taken in my place, given the riders didn’t like to
lose.

I
didn’t start thinking that I should get out of the water until
something brushed my leg—and it didn’t feel like a piece of weed.
I froze, and immediately started to sink. Looking over at the river
bank where I’d last seen the riders, I realised I was much further
from it than I’d thought, that, while I’d been thinking, I’d
been carried further across the river, and then down it, through the
drifting weed.

Turning
my head the other way, I realised I was floating alongside the
steeply rising bank opposite to where I’d gone in. Soft, green
tendrils draped over its edge, not grass, but some sort of bush
growing flat to the ground. Dotted, here and there, amidst its
foliage were tiny blue flowers, with spots of white at the base of
each long, thin petal.

The
touch came again, and I realised it wasn’t me drifting against the
river-bed weeds. The touches from those were no firmer than the brush
of the slowly increasing current. The sensations I was getting, now,
were stronger, like a hand, or a tentacle, or a cat brushing against
my leg. Only there were no cats beneath the water. None.

I
looked up at the bank, and saw that the sides had grown steeper
still. The blue-dotted drapery now wound its way through sharp spires
of rock, and the current was faster. Rivers led to waterfalls in all
the teaching texts. Did this one?